


Key to what...?

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s07e13 The Cold, F/M, First Time, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-07
Updated: 2009-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-30 17:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15101129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: What would happen if when Donna slipped Josh her hotel room key, no one else had noticed...





	Key to what...?

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: In my dream world this is how it all went down. I own nothing but the 75 dollar bottle of Glenlivet whisky and the key to an empty hotel room.  


* * *

DONNA's POV:

She slid the key across the table, heart racing in her chest. Glanced at Josh. His eyes widened, lips parted, searching for something in her expression. No one could notice what either were thinking. 

Half of her thought this was madness. They'd kissed, it was heat of the moment. Election fever, sleeplessness and adrenaline. They'd apologized. Moved on. Gotten past it. End of story. THIS... this key thing... what she was suggesting now... this was moving things into a whole other area, a whole walled-off, fenced off, DO NOT GO THERE area with barbed wire gates and guards with machine guns round it.

On the other hand... there were all those looks. Those maddening moments. She'd noticed them. How couldn't you? The air around them had been buzzing for months now. Silences had become uncomfortable. Proximity, which used to be a simple fact of life crashing around in that square metre outside his office and used to be easy, carefree, meaningless, had become intense, awkward, senses heightened. If he leaned too close, if they got stuck in the elevator together, she could feel her cheeks flush, stared too long at her shoes. She'd see him bite his lip and stare at ceilings out of the corner of her eye. Knew he felt strange too. The dynamic had gone from light flirty banter to this heavy, heady, exciting, scary, heart-thudding circling of each other's orbits filled with endless silent questions. The electricity generated every time their arms brushed reaching for a document could stone an ox. 

And he's beautiful. Sleepy eyed, soft mouthed, erratic hair, goofy grin, hidden in his big winter coat. He'd played a round of basketball earlier and she'd watched him from a dark corner by the hotel garden with his boyish cocky grin, lean muscled arms, the sweat clinging to his back, the silver of his watch against the soft gold hairs of his forearm. Agile legs and strong arms. She'd remembered his eyes when he'd sat with her in Germany, fingers splayed on the covers above her thighs, breath warm against her neck as he'd gazed with awe at every word she uttered. Feeling the heaviness of his body against hers, not wanting to complain about the crippling pain because she couldn't bear to be without his arm against her leg, his chest pressed close to hers to hear her better. 

So she'd offered her key. Key to her room. Key to her heart? Whichever it was, at the worst, they'd at least have the TALK. At best, christ... She could spontaneously combust just at the thought of his skin against hers. Finally. She ached for him. But if it had to be just a talk, so be it. 

She stood up and finished her wine, proferring one last, inquisitive glance at Josh. 

JOSH's POV:

Tonight she has this glow that takes my breath away. We're laughing and joking and drinking beers and anyone looking at me right now would have no idea my brain was focused anywhere other than our little jokes-and-quips session, the campaign, whatever.   
But I just want to stare at her. I want to reach over, touch her. I want everyone at the damn table to disappear, NOW. It's been weeks, months of agonising unspoken desire. Stretched out silences, glances filled with hesitant expectation. Crowded rooms in which I can feel her body move even without seeing her. Jolts of want and lust every time she knocks into me on her way in or out of a room, lip-biting, finger-brushing, midnight showers with my cock in my hand and my palm against the wall of a hotel bathroom on the other side of which she's sleeping. 

Between the high-octane adrenaline rushes of the campaign my mind darts back to those intimate smiles in Rammstein, my arm across her waist as she lay on the hospital bed and told me of her fear before the operation, recounted her tales from Gaza, her sadness, her hopes. I remember the cookie crumb on the corner of her sweet mouth, the ladder in her tights, the day she'd forgotten to apply mascara to one of her eyes because she'd slept so little and was embarasssed. Her soft laugh when we got a White House visit from a bunch of over-excited boy scouts and the youngest took a shine to her and clutched her leg. 

But all we've done is kissed. And felt awkward. And apologised. And moved on. It's inappropriate. It's just a passing thing. It's just the campaign stress. It's just harmless fun in a charged environment. Maybe we can keep kidding ourselves another eight years and put it down to temporary insanity. That kiss that killed me a hundred times. And we move on.

And then she does it. She slides her key over to me. No one sees. It's sitting there, accusing me. The key to Donna Moss. My personal goddess. My stomach plummets through the floor and I feel blood vessels leap into life that I never realised I had. My heart pumps, throbs, hell, I'm probably going red and starting to sweat. I lean further into my coat, look down at my whisky glass and suddenly take an active interest in whatever Lou's babbling about right now.

She wants me. She wants me like I want her. Holy crap! Really...? Does she? Is she drunk? Does she just want to talk? Is this just a sex thing? I don't know what's happening. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. Suddenly I'm fifteen again and my palms are sweaty and I feel a tug in my groin and my mouth goes dry.

She looks at me briefly and nearly kills me stone dead. 

I want this woman. I want her so bad... And then she gets up, all knowing looks and confident posture and any man with three grey cells should be murdering their way across continents to get a piece of this incredible, amazing woman. 

I watch her depart, those long, long legs in a soft, slinky black skirt. Her hips sway as she moves, her blonde hair catches the breeze from the aircon in the lobby and for a brief, brief second she turns her head and looks for me from the corner of her eye and I see it. The faint smile. The expectant glimmer in her eyes.

And they say humans can't fly.


End file.
